


you call the shots, babe

by leadbitter



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-20 21:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16146074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leadbitter/pseuds/leadbitter
Summary: football shorts.





	1. adam/broady “looks like we’ll be stuck here for a while”

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: “looks like we’ll be stuck here for a while.”
> 
> adam smith/tom broadbent
> 
> disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and not intented to represent or speculate on the real lives of any person, only using their likeness to write a story
> 
> so am putting all my shorts fics and prompt related stuff here for clarity and shit sooo enjoy kids (i pinky promise it wont all be rovers but they’re just so easy to write about sorryyyy)

Tom was not in the mood to be messed around. He’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed, literally and metaphorically. Fuck knows how he ended up on the floor but that was something that happened. Then he’d smashed his foot against the door frame trying to get to the telly before Clarkey.

 

The sight of James sat back on the sofa, smiling smugly as he put on _Don’t Tell The Bride_ did nothing but rile him further.

 

Then to cap off the morning, they ran out of milk and coffee so not only could he not sit down and enjoy a nice morning coffee, he couldn’t even force himself to drink it black.

 

Tom was _pissed_ before the day even really started.

 

Adam, however, seemed to be in the best mood humanly possible (probably to spite him, Tom secretly thought, but he had no actual proof of this). Cheery he often was, but this was a new level. Bouncing into the training ground like he was on bloody speed and even Tony was smiling bemusedly at his antics.

 

On a usual day, Tom would have given him a fond glance, made a joke about hating him no matter how much he doesn’t, but this was not a usual day. And Adam, being as unobservant as ever, didn’t seem to realise this.

 

“Eh, Broady!” He yelled from across the training pitch. “Come practise pens against me! Nico’s refusing.”

 

Tom groaned. He was lying down alongside the pitch, the cool dampness of the grass vaguely helping to clear his head. The day’s session hadn’t officially ended yet, but Darrell was being soft on them because they’d won at the weekend.

 

Slowly, he rubbed his hands over his eyes and, without sitting up and speaking at a normal level, said “No I will fucking not. You ain’t even starting.”

 

Instantly he heard someone suck in a breath. He opened his eyes to Locks looking over him with his Captain™ face on and reproachfully muttered, “Oi, bit harsh mate.”

 

God, he was a _cunt_.

 

The thing about Adam is, he can take banter as hard as anyone, and gives it out just as much, but he’s sensitive like you wouldn’t believe and Tom knows it. Any other player, Rodders or Payno, would’ve taken it straight on the chin and laughed it out the room so the words would have no weight, but not Adam. Tom doesn’t really blame him, given how hard he’s worked to make something of himself, but it does often land him in it.

 

Suddenly, the guilt flooded Tom’s senses and _curse him for bloody caring so much, curse him for taking his bad mood out of Adam._

 

He pushed himself up, wiped his damp palms on his shorts and looked around. Adam was nowhere to be seen, but James was giving him a reprimanding look and pointing towards the building, practically saying _fix it._

 

Tom sighed. He snappily muttered, “Don’t take the moral fucking high ground.” as he trudged past James.

 

It was obvious as sin where Adam went, because it’s where he always goes when he’s in a piss.

 

Also because his gloves had been thrown onto the floor and it made a sort of trail.

 

The door to the physio’s room was cracked open, a fluffy cat doorstop holding it that way. Tom took a deep breath and pushed the door open, pushing the stop away so it would close behind him.

 

Adam was sat on the massage table, fiddling with his fingers when he heard the door shut. He looked up. Tom was grateful to see he didn’t look upset, just annoyed. Adam swallowed and said, “You don’t have to check i’m alright everytime you’re a dickhead. You’d be rushed off your feet. ‘sides, i’m fine.”

 

“Yeah?” Tom questioned with a raised eyebrow as he moved to sit next to him. “That why your nails look chewed half to death?”

 

Adam shuffled around and looked at his nails. “They ain’t _that_ bad,” then he stared at them for a bit longer and muttered, “Alright, i might have a problem.”

 

It was quiet for a bit, just them settling into a comfortable silence and Tom pretended that he couldn't feel the heat radiating off Adam’s thigh and that he didn’t desperately want to push into it.

 

“Smudge,” He started, knowing that he’d have to apologise at some point, but Adam cut him off.

 

“You know that door automatically locks, don’t you?” He leans his elbows on his knees, angling a look at Tom. “It locked behind you Tom.”

 

Struggling with the new information, Tom opened and shut his mouth a few times, before tentatively asking, “We can open it though, right? Like, ain’t there a button or summat?”

 

Adam grinned, seemingly back in a good mood, and shook his head. “Looks like we’ll be stuck here for a while.”

 

His stomach did flips. The dimples in Adam’s cheeks were deep and Tom had a sudden violent urge to kiss him.

 

“Fucks sake.” He swears instead, because it's easier, init?

 

Adam’s still smiling, when he nudged their shoulders together. “It ain’t all bad, at least your stuck in here with me and not Clarkey.”

 

Tom huffed out a laugh and gently pressed his side into Adam because fuck it. “I hate you.”

 

“You love me.”

 

 _Yes_ , he thought as he looked into Adam’s eyes, _yes i do._


	2. chilwell/madders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt was meant to be “oh my god! you’re in love with them!” but it strayed so eh who cares
> 
> also not rovers!! tho im still always a slut for things no one cares about 
> 
> disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and not intented to represent or speculate on the real lives of any person, only using their likenss to write a story

The first time Harry accuses Ben of having a bird on the sly, they’re in a club and both pissed out their minds. Each 10 sheets to the wind, but the seasons just ended so it’s allowed, right? The club was just the right balance of classy and scummy to feel nostalgic and the Leicester lads were having it as hard as anyone.

 

Ben was swaying at the bar, smiling drunkenly and texting Madders on his phone, slowly so as not to get all the words mixed up. It was something or other about his imminent move to Leicester and in his intoxicated state, it was hard to hide the glee on his face.

 

“What you grinning at?” Harry slid through a gap in the crowd and came to rest his elbows on the bar, signaling at the bartender. “ ‘nother beer please mate.”

 

His words were slurred and Ben could barely hear him over the noise of the club, but he just about managed and he mumbled back a _nothing_ , with a grin plastered over his face clear as day.

 

Harry pursed his lips and leant forward, skeptically eyeing Ben’s phone. “Is it that video of horse that can talk? Because that’s the kind of thing you think is funny when you’re drunk.”

 

Ben had finally looked up from his phone. “What? Nahhhh.” There were creases around his eyes. He’d just texted Madders that Harry was being annoying as per. James had replied with a selection of laughing emojis.

 

Something in Ben clenched.

 

“Oh yeah?” Harry smirked, raising an eyebrow. “It's a bird, init?” (and at Ben’s lack of response) he gleefully exclaimed, “It is! You look like you’re bloody in love! Who is she?”

 

“There isn’t a girl, swear down H!” Ben belatedly argues, releasing that he’d have to respond to the allegations that he was talking to a girl, when really he was just texting Madders and- oh.

 

“You can’t lie to me, ya know?” Harry slurred. “I know mate.”

 

Ben wasn’t listening by then.

  
  
  
  
  


 

Harry didn’t mention the ‘girl’ again until late June; Ben suspected that he couldn’t actually remember the conversation, but it was also likely that Harry didn’t really care all that much about his love life.

 

Ben had spent the last month and half coming to the realisation that _maybe_ he was a little bit in love with Madders. But it was fine because no-one but Ben would ever know. Hopefully.

 

The faint hope that he could at least be subtle about how much he fancied James fucking Maddison was cut short by Harry’s increasing nosiness about his private life.

 

“You know,” Harry said, after training one day. “You’ve been proper happy recently. Like, full on cheery.”

 

Something about the way Harry said _happy_ made Ben want to smash his head against the wall in the hope that it would stop him from prying.

 

“Happy?” Ben repeated in a bored tone. “ _Cheery_?”

 

Harry nodded, with a thoughtful look on his face. “Yeah, you know. Your whole… vibe. It’s been happier than last season. Is it that bird you were texting last month?”

 

“I’ve been happier, have i?” Ben asked, exasperated and confused. “What d’you actually want me to say to that, H?”

 

Harry jokingly put this hands up in defence. “I’m just saying. I take interest in your life like the good teammate and friend I am. I like to know what’s happening “

 

“Stalker, more like.” Ben muttered under his breath.

 

“What was that?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

Another skeptical look. Harry’s easy to read and in that moment it was clear he suspected something was going on. Obviously, something was going on, but Ben was determined that Harry never knew what that something was. Not that Ben thought Harry would be horrible or anything, but if there’s one thing football players love doing, it’s taking the piss. And _that_ _something_ would be the easiest target of mick-taking since Kas revealed he slept with a teddy bear that had a mini Joe Hart shirt on. (Ben is still baffled why Kas thought that would be a good idea to tell everyone. He might’ve been drunk.)

 

They were still stood in the corridor of the training ground that led to the changing room. Most of the lads had left by then, just the dregs slowly filtering out.

 

“So was it the bird you were texting?”

 

He’s persistent, Ben’ll give him that.

 

“What bird?” A voice appeared behind them and - ah. That’s Ben’s luck for you.

 

Madders wore a intrigued, if not bemused, look on his face. Ben could physically feel the headache appearing behind his eyes.

 

“Chilly’s got this-” Harry excitedly began.

 

“Nothing.” Ben snapped, far too quickly. “There is no girl, alright? Never bloody was.” and with that he all but stormed of down the corridor.

 

The faint sound of Madders asking Harry, “Is he alright?” lingered in his mind on the drive home.

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

The final time, Harry doesn’t accuse him of having a bird on the sly. He doesn’t even accuse him of having a bird. He doesn’t accuse him of anything at all.

  
  


It’s international break, and Ben’s all of a sudden in with the seniors, albeit because of an injury crisis. And Madders is there too, grinning away at him and telling shocking jokes and Ben’s laughing far too much. It’s like everything he’s been trying to hide during the club season spilling over at once, and it’s suddenly so obvious to Ben that he is not good at pretending.

  
  


After Spain, Ben is utterly exhausted. Like bone-deep, just sprinted up and down for a full 90 against a team of world-class players, tired. He’s only from Milton Keynes, he’s not made to play Spain, yet here he is.

 

He all but collapsed on his bed, head first into a pillow, and Madders followed him into their room, chuckling. “Tired, are we?” Ben could practically hear the grin in his voice. He felt the bed dip, and when he rolled over he was hit with the sight of James Maddison sat cross legged on the end of his bed, hair free of product, and the softest look on his face. Ben was so _fucked_.

 

“Knackered,” Ben mumbled and burrowed himself into bed, keeping one eye open and focused. Then Madders did the one thing Ben really didn’t expect him to do: shuffle up the bed and lie down next to him. It’s not that Madders wasn’t affectionate or anything, quite the opposite, but it was never with much purpose, more an arm around your shoulders or a ruffle of the hair.

 

 _This_ , well this was entirely new. Ben’s face was now level with Madders and he swallowed hard, and something inside Ben tightened. Madders looked a lot less confident, but still every bit the lad Ben had been wanting to kiss for the last 4 months. And Ben _really_ wanted to kiss him.

 

Ben shut his eyes briefly, attempting to steady his heartbeat.

 

“Chils?” A soft voice cut through the silence, and when Ben didn’t reply, Madders gently weaved his hand into Ben’s hair.

 

That got Ben to look at him, almost groaning at the feeling. It’s quite embarrassing how much Ben wanted Madders to touch him.

 

“Eh, J?” Ben whispered, not wanting to startle.

 

Madders carded his fingers through his hair, moving softly and proving that, yes, this is all that Ben Chilwell has ever wanted. He hummed. “Yeah?”

 

Ben swallowed. He might as well. “I really fancy you.”

 

Madders smiled slightly. “Yeah? I really fancy you too.”

 

Suddenly everything felt brighter. Ben grinned, and that tight feeling in his stomach dissipated. He placed his hand on Madders face and rested his thumb on his cheekbone.

 

“Chils?” Madders asked, softly. “Mind if i kiss you?”

 

Ben didn’t bother answering, just beamed and pressed his lips against Madders’. It was less of a kiss, and more two ridiculous grins moving against each other, but it was essentially all that Ben imagined it to be. Warm and soft and _Madders_.

  
  
  
  


 

Harry pulled him aside the next morning, just as they were all about to leave the hotel.

 

“I know what’s going on with you!” He exclaimed, far too loudly for 6am and with stupid amounts of excitement.

 

Ben rubbed his eyes and sighed. “What’s going on with me Harry?” Fully expecting an answer like, _the bird you’re going out with who doesn’t exist is pregnant!_ or _you’re getting married with a girl i assumed you were texting 5 months based on absolutely nothing!_

Instead he got, “You’re in love with Madders!” and a knowing smirk.

 

Oh. Clearly he really was as obvious as he thought he was.

**Author's Note:**

> eve xx


End file.
